Sippin’ a latte next to ancient headstones,
a cafe in the center of the dead,
those ghosts who keep recurring,
the one and only thing I know is real in this world.
I have lost my belief in people,
no more curiosity about who they are
why they do
they all seem all too predictable now.
I would rather focus on the dead
the past and the future in one snapshot
each one gone but still here to remind me of what is to come
the ceromony of their circumstance
the ornate home, the quiet and stillness, the respect
They are the sacred grind of existence…
af
(written in a graveyard)
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